Provinsielle utbrudd

EAGLESHAM AS SOLAR ANUS { an antiquarian disambulation } The Earl of Eglinton (Alexander Montgomery) was, like the Duke of Hamilton, a 33° Mason and a member of The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. It is interesting how Hess ‘got lost’ enough to land at Floors farm, just across the road from Eaglesham House (or Polnoon Lodge)... abode of Montgomery. Whatever Hess was up to he was certainly moving in occult circles before and during the war, I think it was pretty much de rigeur at the time if you were rich and right wing (still true of course).

Eaglesham Old & Carswell Parish church (formerly Eaglesham Kirk, situated on Montgomery St naturally) used to be octagonal. Someone perhaps thought that was a bit obvious and likely to attract undue attention. Whoops too late! Anybody fancy a trip in search of the Holy Grail? Or the ‘Beast with two (male) backs’, the Grail being regarded in some quarters as the fundamental void at the centre of all things or, in common parlance – the arsehole.

Montgomery and Polnoon Streets form an ‘A’, with Orry St running between the two. This apparently signifies the A in Alexander, but is also likely to allude to the word ‘Abbadon’, a sacred (and forbidden) utterance amongst Masons. Two words: ‘Solar’ and ‘Anus’. Sodomy is of course the ‘hidden’ aspect of much high level, esoteric practice. I won’t go into why here, suffice to say that the rumours surrounding the Knights Templars were probably true and the keen interest of our Eton-educated aristocracy is unsurprising, all things considered. And everyone knows its not just through the rolling up of trouser legs et al that the Masons get their jollies...

It was a cold and clear day when I set out on foot for Eaglesham,. I planned to stop off on the way to see if I could find the ill-starred Deil’s Plantin’, a hirsute prehistoric bump now surrounded by numerous road extensions. Later I would try to track down Floors Farm and the actual site where Hess had crash-landed his Messerschmitt Bf 110, whilst in between I would attempt to ascertain the real resting place of the Holy Grail.

Truly this part of the world is no longer ‘quaint’. Busy roads seem to bisect the countryside in every direction, queue’s of 4 x4’s pump diesel fumes into the air, with industrial slurry deposits in nearby fields adding to the sense of Nature at Bay. I watched, horrified, as a young Field Pipit attempted to extricate himself from a pour of effluent, without success. Plastic scraps seemed to decorate every roadside tree. The famous falls just outside the village of Waterfoot showed all the signs of having been subjected to several major parties. Cans, broken glass and used condoms littered the picnic area. Although, I must say, that during the “dogging” days undertaken with my late lamented wife Judith I’d spent many a spunky night up here showing her off to the local menfolk.

How she loved to wind down the window of our Vauxhall Astra to take a face full of some likely lads love yoghurt! She claimed it was good for her complexion, and who was I to disavow her of such charming fancies?

On nearing the Deil’s Plantin’ I could just make out the forms of several tracksuit-clad youths gamboling amongst the fine Ash tree’s covering the Neolithic hill. As I approached I could see that my luck was in. It had been some time since I’d been soundly buggered and I was hopeful that a full-on gang-fuck was to be my fate.

I was not to be disappointed – although I wish to draw a veil over the actual details of my joy, suffice to say that I was not spared such harsh treatments as seemed appropriate to my young friends, who took great delight in ‘shafting my brown eye’ for one. As I lay on the brow of the mysterious earthwork, both sated and sore, I became aware that a curious ‘buzzing’ sound was filling the air around me. Of course I knew of old that this was a sign of the onset of ‘Panolepsy’, or the sibilant song pertaining to the manifestation of ‘The Great God Pan’. In a frenzy of lust I began to rut furiously against one of the Ash trees, a handy knothole was all I needed to lose myself to a crescendo of Tree Sex. I caught sight of one of the youths filming me with his Nokia N73 and knew that I was (not for the first time) about to become a YouTube bunny. How I love this life!

Perhaps Rudolph Hess and the mysterious Grail would have to wait for another day? For in the meantime I had to avail myself of the A & E department of our local hospital, as my exertions seemed to have brought on yet another Rectal Prolapse. Damn! And cheerio for now!